⚠️ ⚠️ ⚠️

"I decided to widen the perimeters of our regular patrol routes. One of the areas I was scouting myself was much drier than usual, and the dust clouds were quite large."

You hum in acknowledgement, shuffling your feet on the three-tiered step ladder you stand on. Even at the top step, you still need quite the reach to wash from the top of his entire side panel. Already having washed his entire left side, you begin to clean the other. Huffing a little at the thought of cleaning his front, you think of the gross bugs that you probably need to scrub off of his grills and windshields. Oh well, it's worth it to pamper the large leader and get him all shiny, he deserves it after all.

Reaching tall, you shudder at the uncomfortable feeling of soapy water running down your forearm and dripping off of your elbow.

"Ah yes, the misfortune of landing on our big ball of dirt. You're lucky I actually like doing this. Was it a nice drive at least? You run into any trouble?"

"No trouble today, and it was a nice drive. As a matter of fact, I'd like to take you on a drive through that area sometime. I think you would appreciate the view."

You smile at that, always loving when he takes you on drives.

"Yes! I'd love to! Even if it means you need another wash, haha. Y'know what? With how often I offer to do this for you and the others, I should make an Autobot cleaning service. Start charging y'all cool alien trinkets and nice long drives."

He lets out a low chuckle at that and replies, "Oh, you'd have a fee, huh? You know we have washing stations at base, right?"

"Yeah, but this is more personal. I think you appreciate my hard work. You wouldn't come to me if you didn't prefer a good wash by yours truly. A giant shower doesn't have these magic hands after all!"

You step off of the step ladder and move it aside to start cleaning the middle and bottom half of his side, grabbing a smaller sponge from the bucket to get into the grooves of his door, door handle, and running board.

"I'm free tomorrow if you'd wanna go then. Are you busy? Cause I'd like to come over early anyway to see everybody and say hi." You lean up from washing under the running board and stretch your back after asking. A moment of silence passes and you pause, noticing his lack of response.

"Oppy? You good?"

"Who are you talking to?"

You startle and drop your sponge, spinning around as it makes a wet 'splat!' on the ground. Behind you is your neighbor, hands in their pockets with a bewildered look in their face.

How long have they been standing there?

You notice their eyes dart between your ears, looking for headphones or a Bluetooth connected device of some kind. You stare at them for a beat of silence before replying.

"To my beautiful truck, obviously." You say, as if it's the most obvious thing ever.

"…Uhh, right…" They look at you skeptically.

"Did you need something?"

This jolts them out of their confusion, as they remember what they had come over for.

"Oh, yes! Yes I do. Could I borrow one of your baking dishes for a while? My idiot roommate broke mine trying to make brownies."

"Uh, sure thing, I'll go grab one. Just a moment." You pat Optimus' side as you walk past to go inside, nearly stumbling over the water hose in your distraction.

You quickly speed-walk to your kitchen and grab your cheapest ceramic dish and head back out, catching the sight of your neighbor closely admiring Optimus' alt mode. They turn to you as you approach with a long whistle.

"Sure is a nice truck you got here. Not the kind of thing I'd expect you to have though. I've never even seen this thing here before, much less seen you drive it. Is this really yours?" They inquire.

Bro oh my god go away.

"Well actually, he's a friend of mine- er, belongs! To a friend of mine. It's his truck, I just borrow and care for it sometimes."

"Oh cool. Are they a trucker? This thing's realll heavy duty! I love the colors. Nice job washing it, it looks so shiny!"

"Haha yep! I love it too. Well anyways, I should get back to washing him- it! Washing it! Here you go," you say as you thrust the pan to them, causing them to step back a little in mild surprise.

"Oh right, thanks! I'll be sure to return it soon. See you around."

They turn to leave, stopping to give a pat to the door to Optimus' cab to hear the resounding metal sound, the soap having dried streaky in the sun by now, before finally leaving to go back to their home. You wait to move until they're a considerable distance down the sidewalk, and as they walk back to their own door, they turn to give you a smile and a wave.

You respond with your own and heave a sigh once they're back inside and out of sight. You pick your sponge back up and switch to the larger one to continue the wash and refresh the dried soapy smears on his pretty paintjob.

"Welp, that was one of my neighbors. They're pretty nice, though that roommate of theirs tend to break stuff pretty often. Let's hope they don't get their hands on my baking dish."

"You didn't seem too happy to see them." Optimus noted, once again free to speak.

"Well, it's not that I wasn't happy to see them, I just got a little annoyed. They were taking my time away from focusing on you, after all."

You step back up on the step-ladder to start from the top once more, the streaks disappearing under the new soapy layer dripping down his side. Making your way from the top and down again, now satisfied with your work, you grab the hose lying nearby and rinse his side off. You then grab the towel you used to dry the other side to do the same here, making sure no water droplets dry to make tacky little spots all over him.

"So you love my paintjob?"

"Hm?"

"When your neighbor was here they said they love my colors and you agreed."

"Ah, yes. I sure do! Such pretty shades, and blue and red is such a great combo. You're so pleasing to look at!"

He shifts on his shocks just slightly, preening inside under your compliments. The softness of the large towel was pleasant against his alt-mode, and he made a mental note to show you just how much he appreciated your detailed care later, perhaps with something in a addition with drive to the special view he found. Maybe your wish for some kind of trinket wasn't just teasing?

"Whew! Okay, done with that part! On to the front." You say, arms strained with the task of reaching to dry every inch with the now heavier weight of the towel, which turned from damp to nearly just wet. Walking to the front of him, you grimace at the splattered bugs that didn't come off in the pressure wash, still stuck in his grates. The thought of how that might feel to him crosses your mind.

That…seems very unpleasant. Dried bugs on someone's body…after millions of years of war, I think that would be my breaking point. Why does he still love this planet.

"…Dude…oh, oh you poor thing." You say as you shudder.

"Hm? Is something wrong?" He asks.

"Nope!" You say, popping the p. "Nothing wrong at all. Matter of fact, I'm making everything all righty."

You reach into your wash bucket and grab the smaller sponge from the bottom you brought just for scrubbing away stubborn spots and bugs and get to it. As you scrub away the spots, you remember your conversation before your neighbor showed up.

"Oh, I totally forgot about my question! Could we hang out tomorrow? If you're busy I could drive to base myself and chill with some of the bots."

"I don't have patrol tomorrow, just some review of reports and projects that need my sign-offs, though I could put those off for a day with you." He replies.

"Although," he adds, "as I mentioned, the area I want to show you was quite dry. I'd hate to spoil your hard work and get so dirty again tomorrow. Perhaps you'd like to go some other time?"

Aww, how thoughtful!

"Nah, it's no problem. Like I said, I actually like doing this. Something about the process and getting your metal all clean is really satisfying to me. If you need another wash I'll do it, easy peasy. Besides, maybe we'll get a little rain tonight and it won't be so dry tomorrow!"

If he were in his root mode, he would have a mile-wide smile. You were always so helpful to him and the other autobots in whatever way you could be, and your care meant more than you could know. He thought maybe you were exaggerating the fact that you enjoy doing this to make him feel better, but you weren't the type to be dishonest, so it seems a job well done really does please you.

"Very well then. I'll come pick you up tomorrow morning, and we'll spend the day together." He says.

Finally, you finish your scrubbing and rid him of his buggy plight. You dry the front of him off with the towel that gets even heavier with the addition of even more water, giggling at his rumble as you slide between each grate, then drop it by the bucket. You back up and take slow steps around him, admiring your hard work. His glossy shine is now more apparent, not a single streak of dust left on him. Your proud smile is as bright as he is now as the satisfaction of taking care of your best friend and the excitement of spending tomorrow with him fully sets in. You give his hood a firm pat and feel the warmth from his own temperature mixing with the bright sunshine.

Such a nice day, and there's still plenty of the afternoon left! Hmm, while we're at it…

"So, now that that's done, how would you like a detailed interior clean?"

the low hum of his engines and the gentle whir of his systems lulled you, gently coaxing your eyelids to grow heavier by the second. your voice slowly trailed off mid sentence, head nodding forward as sleep tugged at you. it was getting quite late, after all.

"you are tired," he said, a gentle observation as he tilted his helm.

"mmh... maybe a little," you mumbled, rubbing at your eyes. "sorry, i didn't mean to bore you, i swear..."

“you could never bore me.” his voice was that deep rumble, gentle like he was afraid of startling you. one servo moved slow, carefully cupping around your back. “but you’re exhausted, my friend."

his hand was warm, a comforting heat that seeped through your clothes and spread throughout your whole body. you didn't fight it even a little, simply leaning into the touch with a contented sigh.

he shifted with painstaking slowness, lowering his frame until he reclined fully against the sturdy trunk of a tall pine. the servo at your back held you securely as his other hand slid beneath you, lifting your body and cradling your form against his broad chest plates. a slow vent of air left him as he settled you there.

"better?" his voice was barely a murmur now, softened to something meant only for you.

you hummed, tucking yourself closer, pressing your cheek right over the spot where his spark pulsed strong and steady, a lullaby only you were lucky enough to hear. your palm flattened against the scratched plating, fingers splayed wide, as if you could reach the light inside him that never dimmed. that glow felt so powerful, so constant, like it could go on forever without tiring. and in the hazy drift toward sleep, your mind wandered to how much he carried every single day, how he never let it show.

as atlas held the vast starry heavens upon his shoulders, so optimus bore the weight of two worlds and an endless war upon his frame.

he never complained, never faltered, but in tender moments like this you could almost sense the faint ache he buried beneath his composure. and yet, here with you, cradled so close, he softened into something warm and bright, as though even the heaviest burdens could not follow him here.

he didn't speak again. instead, his thumb traced slow, featherlight paths down your back and up again in a soothing motion.

your eyes slipped closed completely, breathing deepening as sleep settled in. you could almost feel his spark syncing with your heartbeat, the two rhythms blending into one.

just before sleep took you, you felt the subtle shift of his frame as he angled himself, letting his shadow cast over you, sheltering your face from the thin, silver light threading through the branches.

optimus prime, noble leader of the autobots and savior of cybertron, stayed motionless after that.

he simply watched over you. listened to each soft breath you took against his chassis. cherished the faint warmth of your body seeping into his plating like gentle sunlight after the longest winter. beneath the pale moon, he marveled at how peaceful you looked, a precious sight he would protect with every ounce of his being.

here, in this fragile calm, the war and its endless shadows did not exist.

there was only this.

only you, curled up so small and safe in the arms of the prime who would lay down his spark for you.

only the steady, enveloping heat of his frame keeping every chill of the night far away.

only the wordless promise held deep in his spark, certain and true:

he would keep you safe.

always.

"sweet dreams," he whispered, the words softer than a breeze, "my tiny spark."

The gentle ‘Bot starts to tenderly scratch the back of your head, getting into a soothing rhythm. You sigh against him, looking off to the side of the chair with a vacant look in your eyes.

His work is important, you understand that. He makes as much time as he can for you, but sometimes he has to multitask when you need him at a particularly busy time.

You’re mollified by the soft purring of his engine, the slight vibration on your cheek pairing with it. You can hear him tapping away on his datapad with the one servo, but he is still occasionally looking down at you. Your soft hair spills over his digits, and he gets the occasional waft of your shampoo through his sensors. It’s a calming scent to him. Little do you know, but you pacify him in his hardest moments just as much as he does for you.

Sometimes all you need is to be close to him, and he makes it feel like everything is just fine. There are no worries, no stresses, no anxieties. It’s just you and him in this barren bridge, your only company being the low hum of the ship.

“I love you, Locket,” he says, prattling your nickname off easily. He’s a mighty leader, and definitely has a way with words, but in times like this he finds holding you to be the better option. It can be hard for him to know the right thing to say to you, but at least some physical affection never seems to fail.

“I love you too, Optimus,” you mumble back. It feels nice to have your head scratched like this, encompassed by the very servo that has gone to unimaginable lengths to keep you safe and happy.

He locks his datapad, placing it down on the armrest before wrapping his arm around you. He ceases his scratches, instead just holding you as he places his chin on the top of your head.

“I’ve got you,” he says softly.

“I know you do.”

Who knows, you were too engrossed in your sketchbook to notice.

Squinting your eyes, the rays of the sun were starting to bother you. One glance at the clock and you had your answer.

 It was late afternoon. Craning your neck towards the window, the city skyline filled your view. With fewer cars on the street below as the sun began to set, the last rays of sunlight illuminated the Autobot's base and your seat. There was a comforting silence in the air, one that didn’t disturb your work, a drawing you just finished, adding some red there... some blue over there...

The quiet hum of the warehouse and its surroundings were not random moments you enjoyed, instead, you quite cherished them. With some adjustments, the Autobots had begun to recognise your need for personal space. They observed the way you would always clutch your sketchbook tightly to your chest whenever someone approached, or worse, appeared out of nowhere, even though they were giant, metallic masses. Hence, more than once, you would involuntarily screech upon turning around to find a pair of optics curiously watching you draw.

While some Bots like Bumblebee and Mirage tended to be a little too inquisitive for your taste, others, like Arcee and Optimus, were remarkably respectful of your personal space. To your surprise, the latest bot you’ve started to enjoy sketching on every page of your sketchbook was none other than the leader himself.

Exactly like now.

Truth to be told, you have come to admire the Optimus since the first day you came to know him and the rest of the Autobots, dedicated to helping protect the Earth, your home.

Mindlessly, you turned the page.

How long have you been drawing?

There was only one blank page left in your sketchbook, which hasn't been this full since you started sketching and drawing that particular red and blue leader. Every single detail had you hooked, and every sketch was a bit of progress onward. To the Autobots, you appeared to be a strange and skittish human whenever your sketchbook was mentioned or even pointed at.

You started to ponder… “Should I buy another sketchbook right now? Wait until tomorrow?-“ However, your train of thought was cut off by the distant sounds of cars approaching the warehouse. “They are retreating”, you thought, as the first to show itself was none other than Bumblebee. Soon after,  Mirage made his entrance, and as always, Optimus would be the last to return, ensuring that no stranger was around the warehouse.

In an instant, Bumblebee came jogging towards you, his pedes shaking the warehouse shelves, while a bunch of leaves were strangely falling from his closed servos. He stopped abruptly right in front of you, mere inches from your face, beeping enthusiastically. Smiling, you tilted your head, curiously pointing at what he was hiding between his cupped servos, like a kid holding a little bird between his hands.

“Did you find something interesting, Bee?” You hoped he hadn’t torn apart an entire tree. Without wasting a second, he emitted an excited beep and opened his servos. It was a canvas. Or worse, it was someone else’s canvas, one that wasn’t blank, it was already painted. “Bee-what…?” Shocked by what you were seeing, you blinked twice.

“Bee! That’s someone’s canvas-“ You scolded the Bot lightly as he got embarrassed, his antennas dropping. He wanted to be painted too!

“Ohh, can I, be painted too?” Mirage chimed in, snitching, “He did tear it from a balcony on the way here, maybe, I don’t knoww” Bumblebee’s antennas perked up as he beeped aggressively towards the blue Bot for being a snitch. As you tried to calm the banter between those two, your sketchbook fell from your lap, untouched, on the floor.

“Well, it is true! If you can’t find a blank white square, how are they supposed to draw me?” Mirage retorted again with a playful smirk, followed by Bumblebee fussing again, flapping his digits together, imitating the opening and closing of a duck’s beak. Their playful banter went on and on through the warehouse, distracting you to the point of forgetting that Optimus had just entered through a back entrance after his external patrol. The day had been tiresome for everyone, especially for Optimus, after all, he is the one who had carried the entire team back to safety, here.

Optimus was lost in thought, a common occurrence for him lately. Although, yes, he was tired, he felt a strong urge to defend this planet, Earth. While it was vastly different from his home, Cybertron,  the longer he stayed on Earth, the more he grew curious about it. He saw its many shapes, its beauty, its flaws. Every day, he learned something new, and one of the most intriguing topics that captivated him was the arts. He had since sought the opinions of other Autobots but often found himself drawn more to humans’ insights.

Of course, that included you. This fascination with art became a frequent topic of conversation between you and him, something you would talk for hours from its ancient expressions to contemporary and newer pieces as he listened intently, eager to learn and to deepen his appreciation for Earth, its inhabitants and you.

As Optimus tried to comprehend the complexities of earthlings and you, so did you, striving to understand both him and the other Autobots. Sure, the first time you saw these alien sentient vehicles, as they loomed tall and heavily shook the pavement, had left you terrified for a couple of days, however the initial shock soon transformed into fascination. You began to bond with them over your shared differences as you tried to understand each other. That also encouraged you to fill your sketchbook every day with drawings and thoughts. Among them, Optimus captured your attention and heart the most. You would get to know the autoboot leader better, his insight, his speeches resonated within you, motivating you to keep going despite any struggle you faced. Each drawing tried to capture Optimus’s character, like his determination and passion. You guarded your works from prying eyes, NO ONE. Just the thought of anyone discovering it would melt you into a puddle of embarrassment.

While Optimus moved through the room, his pedes unintentionally bumped into something, causing a wave of concern to wash over him. What if he had hit a human? Or an animal? He couldn’t forgive himself if his carelessness had harmed something, earthlings were smaller and more fragile. Slightly lowering his head, he realised it wasn’t a human, but an object lying on the ground. Optimus leaned down to investigate the item, finding it open. A book? It didn’t have paragraphs of words written on it, instead, there were drawings. It was familiar, as if he had seen it before. Suddenly, he remembered it vividly, it was that sketchbook you always carried with you.

Optimus hadn’t intended to pry into something so personal, but he had to return it to its owner. He was mindful of his strength, trying his best to handle it delicately, aware of the extremely thin paper. Eventually, he gently picked it up, making sure not to tear its pages. As he did, he managed to see some of the drawings you dedicated to him. He couldn’t help but marvel at your talent. Each sketch captured every detail with such precision, from the smaller details on his helm to his vivid optics.

Was this how you saw him? How precious.

Optimus seemed to recall a moment from a few days ago when Bumblebee was practically pressing a drawing you made of him against his own faceplate. The joy in Bumblebee’s beeps and expressions was unmistakable. Optimus couldn’t deny how heartwarming it was to witness such a nice and sweet gesture, something that words sometimes could not convey. It was clear that through art, yours, you could capture genuine feelings.

 Still, the previous banter between Bumblebee and Mirage echoed through the warehouse, the noise growing as the Prime went to intervene. The same careful way he had picked it up moments earlier, he closed the sketchbook in his servos and strode towards the commotion. There they were.

“Welcome back Optimus-“

“Bumblebee. And Mirage.”

The two bots, including you, suddenly froze in place. Bumblebee let out a quiet beep as Mirage theatrically lifted his arms.

“What is the meaning of this ruckus?” Optimus approached them, sternly observing them. Under pressure, Mirage was the first to quickly excuse himself “I see, someone’s calling me, uhm- see ya soon Prime-“ he stammered before speeding away. Meanwhile, Bumblebee attempted to hide behind your figure and the nearby shelves, only to knock them down. Before you could fully comprehend, Bumblebee grabbed you, ensuring you didn’t tumble to the floor. Beeping apologetically, he sheepishly shuffled your hair back into place. Copying Mirage he scurried off, maybe he had to glue back that stolen canvas to its right place.

Once the two bots vanished, a calm silence engulfed the warehouse as you returned to greet Optimus again, only for your eyes to land exactly on that closed black sketchbook you had been holding just minutes ago. When did it fell? Oh no! Embarrassment washed over you, freezing in silence. It was closed…right? So, there’s no way he saw what was inside…right?

Optimus was the first to break the ice, bending down on one knee, with a gentle tone, he apologised, “Forgive me, little one, I didn’t mean to pry into your belongings “Handling your now closed sketchbook, he continued “However, if I may, your dedication is admirable.”

Soon, the tips of your ears and your cheeks turned red as a beet, leaving you frozen in place. Nevertheless, Optimus carried on his discourse, “ During the years I’ve spent here on your home, Earth, I’ve come to admire many human creations, their arts, such beautifulness” The Autobot leader didn’t move closer, but he slowly patted your head with his servo, being careful as not to crush you.

“Your skills, I’m sure, will make you a great artist as the ones I came to admire. I am honoured to see myself reflected in your works”.

He lifted himself up, carefully avoiding the warehouse lights. You snapped out of your gaze as he transformed into his alt-mode, inviting you in.

“Though, you must also reserve hours to rest, it’s getting late, and it would be best if you returned home safe, little one.

• “Am I doing this right?” You ask, voice hushed as you crook a finger inside him and he jolts feeling the tug. Isn’t sure he can even answer you right now as he groans. Trembling hands sliding up your sides as you pull at his wires to barely lift your hips then lower yourself again as he hurts for more. For you to ride him while your hands are inside him, to watch you lost in pleasure. For you to slide those hands over the matrix, touch his spark. “Optimus?” You prompt, your voice rough with need. As affected as he is.

• Those gorgeous optics finally open, his stare snaring you as you roll your hips. Hear him growling, engine rumbling as you slide your fingers along wires and bend forward. Mouth opening to pluck one with your tongue. And he’s groaning something in his own language, biolights pulsing to draw your eyes. Nipping gently, he snarls in answer and his servos flex against you. His grip almost bruising and you wonder how it would feel if he lost control with you. To have all that power and strength moving against you. Inside you.

• Isn’t even sure if he’s speaking in his language or yours, but he’s too close. Can’t last if you’re doing that. Those alien eyes of yours like galaxies he can get lost in as your hands slip out of his chassis to make him shudder. And then you’re touching the matrix, letting his spark surge around it to snare you as you gasp, back arching. Hands shifting on your hips, he starts moving you on his spike as you tremble. Can feel you tangled inside him, the warmth and fragile light of you as your memories twist with his.

• And then there it is, a vehicle going by the other way on a lonely stretch of road, shaking him from his thoughts. A lone Decepticon after months of silence. He recognizes Swindle’s alt mode. Knows he’s been spotted in return when the smaller vehicle takes off with squealing tires and he turns to pursue. Not the most dangerous Decepticon out here by a long shot, but one that might cave easily under interrogation. A clue about what Megatron is up to and he can’t let it go. So he gives chase.

• Radio sputtering static laden classic rock as the wind from the open windows whips your hair, you fight a yawn. Endless stretches of nothing lulling you after two hours into your drive. You only catch a glimpse of the gaudy yellow and purple Jeep in your rear view before it clips your fender and your little sedan fishtails off the road and into the ditch. To add insult to injury, the airbag goes off and smacks you in the face. Shock mingles with outrage as you shove open your door, feeling your nose dripping and tasting blood. “What is wrong with you?” You scream, half tempted to beat the driver with a shoe you’re so angry. Except, there is no driver. And as you stare, the car unfolds.

• Not exactly built for speed, he still catches up in time to see Swindle transform and seize the human he ran off the road. The little creature screaming as the Decepticon holds it in front of him like a shield. Optics narrowing, he comes to a stop. Attack and the human will die. If Swindle tries to take it with him, it’ll still die most likely. “Let the human go.”

• There’s a monster in front of you and another squeezing your ribs so tight you can’t get in a clean breath to keep screaming. Huge, the other one towers over the one trying to crush you and it lifts big hands, the gesture placating. “Swindle,” the giant says, that deep voice oddly soothing. Reasonable. Unfortunately the monster called Swindle isn’t having it. As it pulls its arm back and your shoulder and cheek smack into the hand holding you, there’s a moment of realization even as your vision grays. Oh, you’re going to die.

• Grinning with spiteful malice, Swindle slings the human and its little body arches limply from his servos. Moving before he even thinks, Optimus lunges, hands outstretched to catch that fragile form. Flinching himself at the feel of its much softer body colliding with his hard hands. And aware that Swindle is escaping. In his hands, the human is so small, groaning in pain, but not opening its eyes. Hurt and needing help.